


come back in whispers

by kitthae



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Minor Angst, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Princes & Princesses, Rimming, Royalty, Service Top, Smut, The Plot Was Constructed For The Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:33:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29246625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitthae/pseuds/kitthae
Summary: It is improper to abandon your guests in the middle of the royal banquet, and he will sit obediently and listen to his mother’s scolding when the time comes. But for now, he passes by the golden gates to the banquet hall, closed shut and decorated with its golden carvings, and continues on his way back to his own rooms.
Relationships: Lee Keonhee/Son Dongju | Xion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45





	come back in whispers

**Author's Note:**

> Did I start this at eleven this morning and it is currently 8:30pm? Yes. Is this finished? Yes. Did I write all of this today in a span of roughly 7 hours? Yes. I will not be answering any more questions at this time.
> 
> Enjoy 8k of Keonhee and Dongju being dumb idiots and Dongju getting what he deserves. :^)

The sun blares down in the white walls of the palace, and Dongju leaves the bustling of the people behind.

The palace gates shut most of it out on a normal day, turn the royal grounds into a paradise removed from the sound of hooves and market cries of the ordinary people. But it is not a normal day.

“Your Highness.” One of his mother’s servants rushes after him. He can never recall their names, although his mother calls them fondly, but he recognizes this man by the bellow of his blue robes, the penchant on the chain around his neck. His mother’s emblem. “Your Highness, her Majesty requested for you to return to —”

“I will go lie down, I don’t feel well,” Dongju says, as gently as he can, cutting the man off. He knows what his mother will have requested of him, and he has no intention to obey.

Although he appeared perfectly fine just a breath ago, standing over the steps to the palace and observing the lively bustle of his people below, he does not cease in his step. It will carry him back around the main hall of the palace, where his parents are conversing with their guests, anxious for his return.

It is improper to abandon your guests in the middle of the royal banquet, and he will sit obediently and listen to his mother’s scolding when the time comes. But for now, he passes by the golden gates to the banquet hall, closed shut and decorated with its golden carvings, and continues on his way back to his own rooms. The light green of the Manor’s walls sets it apart from the rest of the white palace buildings, windows reflecting the sunlight like fluid gold.

The servant follows his every step, respectful not to speak while a Highness has turned his back on him, but he lingers, still. Like his mother’s warning finger, gently scolding.

Dongju turns around before he crosses the threshold to his own halls. The servant bows, and opens his mouth to speak once more, likely to remind him of his duties. That he should return to the banquet as soon as he feels well enough, that it would draw negative attention from those merchants who sent their daughters if he didn’t.

Dongju raises his hand to cut him off before he can speak, and the servant closes his mouth.

“Tell my mother that I will return soon, that she should not worry. In the meantime, while I rest, please send for my brother. Let him know that I require his presence as soon as he can come.”

The servant nods, and bows before he hurries off. Dongju turns around with a smile.

Dongmyeong set off in a carriage with his closest companions and some of their father’s greatest riches just this morning, on his way to attend a banquet himself, but the ordinary servants would not know so. Their parents and their closest servants are busy with the guests and the lower rank servants would not dare disturb them to inquire the whereabouts of the prince, so their search for him would keep them away from Dongju’s rooms for a while.

Inside the Manor the royal family had built for their twin princes specifically upon their birth, only their personally assigned servants may roam without special permission. Dongju nods at Kim Geonhak, who stands guard next to the gates, and who returns a deep bow. Dongju smiles to himself.

No matter how many times he reminds Geonhak that he does not require him to keep up etiquette inside the walls of the Manor, he refuses to surrender it. Much opposed to most of Dongju’s other appointed servants.

He passes by the servant chambers on the first floor, mostly empty now that everyone is out and about doing their work around the palace, and Dongmyeong has taken his closest servants along with him, and the nursery where they spent the first months of their lives before their mother moved back into her own Manor.

The right of the twin wide stairs in the center of the hall leads him to his rooms, while the left would lead him to Dongmyeong’s. Only an unknown man guards the bottom of the stairs, likely appointed by their parents after Dongmyeong requested for Harin to accompany him on his travels. For his safety, because there is no one in the palace who cares more about protecting Dongmyeong than Harin does, and no one Dongmyeong would rather have.

Dongju lowers his head in his direction, and the guard, too, returns a low bow.

“Geonhak,” he calls out when he has climbed the first two steps of the wide stairs, turning his head in his direction just a little. His voice travels in the large hall, anyway.

Geonhak appears at the bottom of the stairs in a breath, falling into yet another bow. “Your Highness.”

Dongju smiles, and he wants to turn around and reach out, tap the tip of his fingers under Geonhak’s chin to make him rise, straighten his back, and reprimand him to not be so polite here. He doesn’t, because he knows Geonhak wouldn’t take those words if spoken kindly, and Dongju doesn’t want it to be an order.

“Call for Keonhee?” he requests instead, gently, and Geonhak nods. “Send him to my rooms.”

“Of course.” Geonhak bows even deeper, a hand pressed against the flat of his chest, before he rises again and hurries off to look for Keonhee. He must be in the kitchens on the Manor somewhere.

The front of Dongju’s bedchambers is guarded only by a small figure, sword at her hip and head raised high. She bows deeply when Dongju approaches, and he smiles. “Byulyi.”

“Your Highness.” She straightens up again, and Dongju catches the faintest of smiles on her face. They have been close since Dongju was a child, as she used to be one of his father’s guards, assigned to guard the nursery of the twin princes. After the queen moved back, Byulyi pleaded to become a guard for the twins.

She usually guards the entrance or Dongmyeong’s rooms, but Dongju is always pleasantly surprised to see her in front of his own doors. She does her job well, and she’s not afraid to speak to him.

“Do you not have a banquet to attend, your Highness?” she asks slyly, although she must know how much Dongju hates the gatherings his parents hold in the banquet hall. How much he has always longed to get away from them, even when he was still a small child and they were held only to celebrate him and his brother.

He shakes his head, but doesn’t answer. “I am expecting company,” he informs her instead. “One of the servants will attend to me in a small while. His name is Keonhee. Please let him pass.”

Byulyi lowers her head in a respectful nod, but he doesn’t miss her smile. Dongju smiles, too.

His parents decorated his rooms long before he was born, every piece of fabric that covers his bed or the walls or the sitting pieces in the front room passed through the hands of the pregnant queen to deem it appropriate. Every pillow was stuffed by hand to the queen’s liking, every painting specifically commissioned by the king. And Dongmyeong’s rooms are a perfect mirror image, although each painting is different.

They made sure that neither of their sons would have to miss a single thing in their lives, showering them in riches and presents from their noble relatives — and yet, Dongju’s favorite part of his rooms is his bedroom, where he put up paintings that he picked himself, and a simple candle burns on the bedside table.

Expensive fabrics and art give the rooms their luxury, but he still has to live here.

Sunlight still spills in through the window, painting its golden picture on the rugs, and Dongju steps in front of the framed mirror in his bedchamber to examine the damage of the day.

His mother had him roused in the early hours of the morning, even before Dongmyeong had gotten up to get dressed and ready for his travels. Her own servants came to wake him, ignoring the orders of the Manor’s guards, and moved him over to the queen’s Manor to prepare him for the banquet.

Twisted his hair back and pinned it up with golden needles, dusted his face in golden powders.

Even the robe they dressed him in is not of his usual colors. Instead of the green and blue robes that everyone associates the princes with, they wrapped him into a white robe adorned with golden embroidery that was reminiscent of what his parents wore. Dongju was not the crown prince, and neither was Dongmyeong, because the heir to the throne was still to be debated, but his mother still wanted to send a message with the robes she picked.

His father’s upper lip twitched when Dongju took his seat at the banquet in these royal robes, but his mother’s smile was unmoving. Dongju wisely decided not to comment on both of their obvious favoritism.

The people talk, he knows that. There have been rumors about which one of the twin princes would climb the throne after their father since the day they were born, as they were their parents’ first and only children. Some whispered that he and Dongmyeong would have to fight for the title of crown prince the day they turned of age, but ever since that day passed two years ago and still no heir to the throne has been declared, the people are growing restless. Some say the royal family is waiting for one of the princes to die in battle.

Some whisper that there is dispute between the king and the queen, because they both favor one of the twins.

Dongju only smiles when he hears the whispers. When he passes through town with a hood over his head and no golden powder over his eyes and the merchants at the stalls don’t recognize him, or when his servants tell him about the latest rumors while they brush his hair in the mornings, a faint giggle to their words.

The door creaks open after a brief knock, and Dongju is ripped from his thoughts. He removes the hand he was running over the sleek hair above his forehead, and turns around,

Byulyi bows to him. “Your Highness, your company.”

Dongju smiles and nods at her, and she straightens back up and leaves. Instead of looking after her figure disappearing behind the door, Dongju turns around to the man that entered alongside her.

Keonhee lowers his head in greeting. This time, Dongju does not hesitate to reach out, putting two fingers under the point of his chin and pushing it up again until Keonhee straightens up. Keonhee follows the guidance of his hands easily, does not oppose the way Geonhak does, and he takes the kind words Dongju whispers into his ears.

“Hello Keonhee,” Dongju greets him gently, and Keonhee returns his smile.

“Good afternoon, your Highness.” His eyes flash with a special kind of mirth that Dongju has securely attributed to him only. “I did not expect you to call for me so early. Did you not enjoy your banquet?”

Dongju shakes his head with a smile. Keonhee knows him just as well.

“Help me out of this robe?” he asks instead of an answer, and Keonhee follows along with him easily.

They, too, have known each other for much longer than Dongju cares to remember. Keonhee is older than him by only a few years, and he was always one of the servant children who played around the backyard of the Manor before their parents caught them, while Dongju sat up in his room and yearned to join.

He only formally met Keonhee when he was thirteen and his parents had the guards escort him and Dongmyeong down to the stables to train with the horses, and a fifteen-year-old Keonhee helped him sit up on his horse.

Seven years later and he finds them so tangled that he can’t tell where he ends and Keonhee starts. He thinks sometimes that Dongmyeong understands him, when he sees the way his brother’s hand gently hovers over the back of that guard, Harin, but he’s never dared to ask. Because there are also other servants Dongmyeong treats like that, like Giwook and Yonghoon and the ever elusive Hyungu, Dongmyeong with gentle hands and smiles full of joy.

Dongju is sure about Keonhee, though, even if it makes his legs shake in fear. When he thinks of the guests in the banquet hall, those merchants and their daughter. The royal robe around his shoulders, an obvious message.

He snuck away, left his parents anxious and fretting, diverted the attention of the other servants and knows that Byulyi will let no one into his chambers that he hasn’t permitted, and Keonhee slides his hands along the belt of his robe. Like Dongju cannot undress himself, but he enjoys Keonhee’s hands so much more.

“You could’ve invited me to the banquet,” Keonhee murmurs, where he’s standing behind him.

They’ve moved back into Dongju’s bedroom, the framed mirror catches their reflection. Keonhee is taller than him by quite a bit, the tip of his nose nearly brushing the top of Dongju’s head when he stands melted against his back like this, long arms circling his waist to move his hands along the front of his tied belt.

“Why would I have done that?” he asks, voice faint. So Keonhee could have watched him awkwardly stumble through conversations he didn’t want to be having with merchants he didn’t know? About how it would be an honor to have their daughters marry into the royal family, no matter if she would one day climb the throne as queen or not. How the riches of their ancestors would surely suit the tastes of the royal family well —. He shakes his head.

“I know little about the royal customs,” Keonhee mumbles as he slowly undoes the knot of Dongju’s belt, slides his hand under his robe. “But I sure know how to hide my hands under the table.”

Dongju smiles and tilts his head back, dropping it against Keonhee’s shoulder and letting his back fall against the warmth of his chest. What improper thoughts. They make a heat spread in his hips. “Maybe that would indeed have helped me remain calm,” he says, and Keonhee twists his neck to look at him and smile.

Dongju peels himself away from Keonhee’s chest again to let Keonhee slide the robe off his shoulders.

“What a fancy robe,” Keonhee comments. The fabric does not leave his hand, fine silk and golden embroidery sliding through his hands as he examines the stitchings. “Like your father’s.”

His eyes sweep over him with a weird look at that, and Dongju does not miss it. He shakes his head and reaches out to twist his own hand into the expensive fabric. “My mother wants to send a message to my father that she thinks I should be the crown prince,” he says. His hand wretches the robe from Keonhee’s grasp and throws it to the floor.

A small gasp escapes Keonhee’s lips at the movement, and Dongju is aware of the disgrace of such a royal robe touching the dirty floor, being thrown around like that. He does not care.

Keonhee’s arms slide back around him, hands resting against him over the shirt covering his skin. It, too, is made from only the finest fabrics, whiter than snow, though the faint embroidery on it matches the same tone of white, so as to not steal too much attention away from the gold of the robe.

“And do you want to be?” Keonhee asks gently as his hands move to undo the shirt, too. “Crown prince, I mean.”

Dongju knows what he meant, but he only hums under his breath. Does he? The robe bore down heavy on his shoulders and back in the banquet hall he stumbled over every other word he spoke. He would have been a fool to miss the dark looks passed between his parents whenever he had to speak to one of the merchants.

“It’s Dongmyeong’s birthright,” he says instead of answering the question. “He’s older.”

“By a minute,” Keonhee reminds him gently. He doesn’t comment on Dongju not answering his question. “And you know there are voices that claim that to be fraud, too. Say that the king only claims Dongmyeong to be older because he wants him to have the throne. Because you’re taller, you must surely also be older.”

Dongju smiles and shakes his head again. “Don’t say that in front of Dongmyeong.”

Keonhee laughs and slides the shirt off Dongju’s shoulders as well, ever so gently. As if he’s afraid to crumble the fabric, but Dongju just tears it from his hands again and throws it on top of the robe.

His upper body remains bare in the softly warmed air of his room, except for the necklace around his neck, always hidden beneath the layers of his robes. A fine chain and a little penchant made from rough material; a gift from Keonhee that he never takes off and never lets anyone see.

Keonhee presses a kiss to the back of his neck, right where the chain meets his skin.

“Your mother’s servants did a good job on you,” he says, catching Dongju’s eyes in the framed mirror. He raises his hand to trace his fingers along Dongju’s cheekbone. They come away coated in golden powder, and they both smile. “You look fantastic. Like a real prince.”

“Are you saying that I usually do not?” Dongju jokes and Keonhee laughs.

He leans down to press his nose into the crook of Dongju’s neck, where the perfume they coated him in still lingers the strongest, and he smells him instead of answering. His hands sneak down towards Dongju’s hips, where the waistband of his trousers still lies. Dongju cannot stop himself from letting out a faint sound when Keonhee breathes into his neck at the same time he slides his hands under his pants to take them off.

“Let me,” Dongju breathes when he’s stood only in his underpants, Keonhee still fit against his back.

Keonhee removes his arms from around him just enough to let Dongju turn around. Their faces nearly align, and Dongju cannot hold back from pressing a gentle kiss to Keonhee’s lips. It doesn’t last long, and Keonhee’s eyes remain on his face with a weird fondness as Dongju makes work of stripping him off his robes, too.

The material of them is much rougher than anything Dongju has worn in his entire life, but he presses his face into Keonhee’s shoulder, covered by his shirt still, and breathes in his scent.

Dongju himself must smell of litres of perfume and the flowers that were handed to him and maybe faintly of the food that was served at the banquet. Keonhee, instead, smells like sweat and the odour of the Manor’s kitchens, and like himself. Dongju has been buried in those sheets often enough to recognize that smell.

“Thank you,” he murmurs when he pulls away again, pushes the shirt down his shoulders and makes blind work of his pants. His eyes remain on Keonhee’s face, and he looks back down at him.

A smile tugs at Keonhee’s lips, and his eyes are so open. “What are you thanking me for?”

_Being here,_ Dongju wants to say. _Not leaving me. Always being here when I need you, even if I can’t expect that of you. Offering to help me._ But he says, “For helping me take off this awful robe.”

Keonhee laughs, and it sounds loud in the room. Obnoxious and wild, but it makes Dongju smile.

“My pleasure, your Highness.” Keonhee’s arms sneak back around his waist, and they are both mostly bare by now, skin of their chests sliding together when Dongju wraps his arms around his neck to pull him down.

Kissing Keonhee has always been easy, from the first time they did, dumb and stumbling behind the stables. Dongju had never kissed anyone before, obviously not, because he was the sheltered son of the royal family, and Keonhee blushed bright red and his hands grew warm in Dongju’s when they did.

Now, their mouths slide together with practiced ease, and Dongju hooks his arms around Keonhee’s neck to pull him closer, and Keonhee doesn’t shake anymore. Their bodies grow warm for another reason.

“Your hair looks so pretty like this,” Keonhee breathes when they slide between Dongju’s sheets. He raises a hand from his waist to run his hair over the pinned back twist at the back of his head, a few strands coming loose from the updo and dangling around his face, Keonhee tucks them away.

Dongju pushes at his shoulders, and Keonhee always follows easily. Rolls onto his back and lets Dongju climb over his hips. “It’s very uncomfortable,” he confesses, reaching behind his back to meet Keonhee’s hand there.

Keonhee leans up to kiss him. “I’ll help you take it out later?” he offers, and Dongju has to smile.

He removes his hand from his hair and leans down to kiss Keonhee back, pressing his head back down into the mattress with the strength of his mouth alone. Keonhee’s hand falls down, too, and both of his hands circle Dongju’s hips as if he would try and move Dongju’s body. He doesn’t, of course, and Dongju smiles into his mouth.

They kiss, warm and tender, tongues sliding together, until Dongju grows impatient.

Words pass between them with ease, secrets whispered between the sheets, sweet inquiries and a giggle. Keonhee doesn’t have to ask what Dongju wants from him, but he does so, anyway.

Some shuffling rids both of them of their last pieces of clothing and Dongju finds himself sprawled out on his sheets, a thick pillow stuffed under his hips to lift them off the bed and his arms stretched over his head. He closes his eyes and sighs in bliss when Keonhee presses a kiss to the inside of his thigh.

It’s different when they do it here, between the fine silk and satin sheets of Dongju’s bed, thick rugs on the floor and the walls keeping the cold out, tall windows and the tinkle of luxuries surrounding them. It harbors a risk. His parents’ word rules over Dongju’s and they could send their servants into here on a moment’s notice if they really wanted to. It’s not safe to get entangled with a servant in his own chambers, and they rarely do it.

Usually Dongju sneaks down into Keonhee’s chambers for this, head held high, and all of the other servants and guards avert their eyes. It almost feels better with his head pressed into Keonhee’s rough sheets. Like he can forget for a moment what his life really looks like. Like he can pretend for a moment that this could be real.

But it has a special thrill up here, too. Maybe the fact that they could be caught is what makes it so thrilling.

Keonhee trails kisses down the insides of his thighs, and Dongju has to consciously stop his eyes from rolling back into his skull. A shiver runs down his spine, makes him shudder, and Keonhee grins into his thigh.

He has such a big mouth, always talking, smile spreading across his cheeks until Dongju could think there was nothing left of his face. He feels it when he kisses him, too, plush lips giving way to a large mouth. And the only thing better than someone with a big mouth is someone who knows how to put that to use.

Warmed-up oils dribble from Keonhee’s fingers and between Dongju’s legs, onto the sheets that he will have to wash again after this, but he doesn’t care. Keonhee leans down to lick it up, and Dongju keens.

Keonhee’s hands wrap around his inner thigh once he’s once done spreading the oil and push his legs apart. Fingers dig into the cheeks of his ass to spread them, and his tongue presses flat and hot against his entrance.

Dongju cranes his neck, head pressing back into the mattress, and he holds back a moan, no matter how small.

Keonhee knows how to use his mouth, and he knows how to use it on Dongju specifically. His tongue labs against his entrance a few times, sensation just on the right side of strange, working him up. Dongju’s fingers twist into the silky sheets by his side, and he sucks in a deep breath. Tries to steady himself and not finish too fast.

“So good,” he breathes out, because he knows how to indulge Keonhee, too.

It spurs him on; he presses his face harder into Dongju’s ass and Dongju has to forcibly still his hips so as to not rock down against his face. He knows Keonhee will give him what he wants with time. Trusts him.

So he only reaches down to card his fingers through Keonhee’s soft hair, tugging him closer just a little bit.

Fingers dig into his behind so hard Dongju fears he might bruise if he doesn’t tell Keonhee to stop, tell him to _be good._ Keonhee would obey, without hesitation, and Dongju knows, and he revels in it because he knows it’s not because he’s the prince and Keonhee is his servant. It’s just because it’s _Keonhee._

But he doesn’t find it in him. Maybe because he knows that if he opened his mouth, all of the moans he’s been keeping in would spill out, or maybe because he finds that the thought of finding bruises in the shapes of Keonhee’s fingers on his backside the next morning makes another wave of comfortable heat rise in his guts. Maybe both.

“Oh — shit, Keonhee.” Dongju’s breath hitches when he feels the tongue finally probe at this entrance, licking him open. Practice has his muscles still used to the foreign stretch, and they give way easily.

Spit and oil mix up to slide down the crack of Dongju’s backside and Keonhee’s chin as he buries himself deeper between the cheeks, licking and sucking at Dongju’s entrance. The sounds are filthy, almost animalistic, and they rise to the ceiling of this luxurious room, always so proper, and heat fills out Dongju’s head, blocks his thoughts.

Keonhee’s tongue slips into him, and it’s so warm and so, so hot, and Dongju wants to thrust down against him.

He holds back by a thread, stills his hips and lets Keonhee thrust his tongue into him, once, twice, three times until a loud moan finally rips out of Dongju’s throat and he pulls at Keonhee’s hair.

“So good, fuck —” he curses, trying to catch his breath. “You’re so good, Keonhee. Look so good.”

Their eyes catch and he can see the heat coloring Keonhee’s cheeks red, as well. His eyes crescent at the praise, but his mouth is relentless. His tongue licks into him with even more passion, and Dongju’s fingers begin to shake right as he slides them out of Keonhee’s hair to cup the top of his cheek instead, hold him so gently.

Heat pools low in his belly, comfortable and tickling at his nerves in all the best ways as Keonhee continues to open him up with his tongue, but something else fills his chest when they hold the eye contact.

Something that he knows he would never feel with any of the merchant daughters in the banquet hall. Or even with another man. Something that he knows is reserved for Keonhee, has been since they were stupid, risky teenagers kissing behind the stables when Dongju was supposed to train with his horse.

If Keonhee’s mouth wasn’t so busy, Dongju would lean down to kiss him with how overwhelmed he feels.

But one of Keonhee’s hands releases his cheek and scoops up the slick mess that’s slid down his backside, bringing it back up to his entrance. Their eye contact holds even as Keonhee slips a finger into him and a soft moan spills from Dongju’s lips. He has to break it, though, throwing his head back when Keonhee works both his fingers and his tongue into him at the same time.

His other hand still holds Dongju’s other cheek back to grant him access, so he doesn’t complain when Dongju reaches down to wrap a hand around his cock and tugs.

“You’re so —” he cuts himself off as a moan builds up in his throat and he can’t hold it back, the hand that is not working his cock still slightly trembling against the side of Keonhee’s face. His fingers move to brush a strand of Keonhee’s loose hair back behind his ear, and he finds his eyes again. Smiles. “You’re so good to me.”

His breath is coming in pants, heat has crawled into his chest and colored it bright red, too. The praise has Keonhee humming against him, and the vibration sends another wave of pleasure crashing through his nerves.

The second Keonhee slides a second finger into him, scissoring them to open him up even further, Dongju can’t hold back. He rocks his hips down towards him, and Keonhee catches him. Presses back against his movement with the one hand still on his ass, and but also meets him halfway, driving in further.

His tongue fucks into the space held open by his fingers, and Dongju lets out a sound awfully close to a mewl before he can stop himself. His hand slides back to grasp at Keonhee’s hair. “Like that, fuck —”

The lewd sounds of Keonhee’s mouth working against him still fill the room, fill Dongju’s head with a heat that feels inescapable, and his wrist works faster to tug at his cock until he finally tips over the edge.

“Keonhee, Keonhee —” his voice cuts out right as he tries to say his name again, broken off in a moan.

And Keonhee pulls his mouth away from his entrance to press soothing kisses into the soft insides of his thighs, nipping at the skin gently. His fingers, though, he keeps hooked into him, the pressure of them comforting as his other hand releases his ass to come up to his cock and help him work through it.

When the waves of pleasure have mostly faded and he feels he can think again, no layer of heat fogging his brain, he releases his cock before the sensation has the chance to turn uncomfortable, and tugs at Keonhee’s hand.

And as always, Keonhee follows immediately, easily. Body like made from silk, too. He fits himself over Dongju’s form, bare hips knocking and fingers tangling somewhere in the middle. Their lips melt together like meant to be, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Dongju thinks they might be. Keonhee’s mouth is still wet and messy with spit and oil, and Dongju can taste himself on his tongue. It should be repulsive, but he only pulls him closer.

“Thank you,” he whispers when Keonhee parts from his lips, and he gets to caress the side of his face again. Stroke his hair back, trace a finger along the curve of his lip. “Give me a few moments.”

Keonhee could not speak the entire time, too committed to his work between Dongju’s legs, and Dongju sometimes appreciates the chance to shut him up. His mouth works relentlessly, always talking. Right now, he is a bit out of breath and his face, too, is filled with heat and his eyes are glossy, but he still talks.

“It’s okay, your Highness,” he pants out. “If you can’t, that’s okay, I can just —”

But it’s a front, and Dongju slides the hand he had in his hair down to cover his mouth. The metal of his rings, some decoration, some symbols of his status, pressing against the soft, warm skin of Keonhee’s lips.

Keonhee knows that he doesn’t have to apologize, or assure Dongju that it’s okay if he cannot reciprocate, because no matter how much Keonhee takes him apart, no matter if he lies on the bed like a defeated man, catching his breath — it will never be of any kind of trouble for Dongju to return the favor. He likes it too much for that.

He feels Keonhee smile against his palm and lets go of him, and Keonhee leans in to press a fluttering kiss to his forehead. “Okay. I won’t talk anymore.”

“No, please do,” Dongju sighs, leaning up to kiss him, too, short and sweet. “Please do.”

He takes a moment to catch his breath, chase the heat from his skin before it will inevitably come back to him, before he rolls out his neck and puts his hands against Keonhee’s shoulders. “Okay, let’s go.”

A grin flickers across Keonhee’s face and he dives down to kiss him. His hands wander down Dongju’s body, trace along the sides of his hips and the tops of his thighs, igniting sparks under Dongju’s skin, until he slides them against the insides of his knees again and spreads his legs open, thighs falling open on either side of him.

Dongju can barely recall when Keonhee removed his fingers, but he slips them back in with ease now.

His entrance is still slick from all the oil and spit, but Keonhee’s free hand reaches for the bottle on the nightstand, anyway. His other hand works a third finger into Dongju, and he reclines back into the sheets, sighing faintly.

His nerves still feel subdued a little, but Keonhee works him open fast and precisely, knowing exactly what he’s doing. Long fingers brush along Dongju’s walls, stretching him open, crooking in search of the spot that’ll have him seeing stars, and despite the fire under his skin staying low for now, Dongju moans when he finds it.

It’s mostly exhausting settling into his bones after the long day that has him like this now. But even if he doesn’t manage to get aroused again, it’ll be enough if he can make Keonhee finish. He doesn’t need to move for that.

Keonhee seems to notice, too, dropping down to press a kiss to his chest. “It’s okay. Lay back.”

He still crooks his fingers into him, tries to make this as pleasurable as possible for him even if the tiredness in his bones pins him to the bedding, Keonhee still rubs against his sweet spot until Dongju hiccups faintly.

His mind drifts a little even as Keonhee finally pushes his dick into him, inch by inch, and Dongju tries to settle around him. His eyes wander along the lines of Keonhee’s throat, long and thin, elegant. The open expression on his face, open eyes that stay fixed on Dongju’s face, lips parted a little to let out his panting breaths.

He’s rosy in the cheeks, obviously running hot, too, the white of his teeth peeks out from behind the blush of his lips and Dongju wants to reach out, pull him in and kiss him, but he ends up only stroking his thumb along his cheek.

Keonhee stares back down at him with the same kind of dumbstruck awe that Dongju feels filling his brain, and it makes a smile tug at his lips. To see it out in the open like this, displayed on Keonhee’s face because he has always been bad at hiding what he’s feeling, face always a dead giveaway, and maybe that is why Dongju likes him so much.

All his life he has been surrounded by people like his parents, important people, mighty people. Pristine reputations, not a stain on the skirt of his mother’s long robes, his father’s hair combed back neatly and on his face always a new calculation, a new plan for the country. His life was planned through the second his mother held him and Dongmyeong in her arms for the first time, a room in the manor already prepared for him.

He learned to be proper, he learned to be a prince. Writing and horseback riding and archery and diplomacy and swordsmanship and history, all alongside his brother. One of them destined to be king one day. The other, at least, to marry well and serve his brother, still of royal blood and still an important figure.

But this — Keonhee and everything that comes with him — is so improper. Keonhee never learned to be proper, never learned to school his expression into perfect diplomatic neutrality, agreeable and polite.

He’s kind, but in an explosive way. Laughs too loud and pushes at Dongju’s shoulder without care for his status, treats him like he is not a royal prince, but one of his friends from the servant quarters. Calls Dongju by his title, so polite, _Your Highness,_ but his voice always carries a teasing lilt when he speaks to him.

Dongju’s skin does run a little hotter when he imagines what his parents would think, what the people would say. If they knew that he snuck away from the banquet his parents organized in order to find suitors for the position of his wife, to return to the luxurious bedroom they built for him before he was even born to be done by one his servants.

He lets out a deep groan when Keonhee finally pushes all the way into him, warm, full.

_What a sin,_ he thinks, and his nerves finally take interest. Heat pinches in the depth of his guts again and he pulls at Keonhee’s shoulders to have him closer, press his lips against him like a madman, eat him up. His hips twitch.

Keonhee seems to notice the change in attitude, because he rolls his hips just slightly, angle shifted now that his torso is splayed across Dongju’s and he has to hold himself up with his hands planted left and right of Dongju’s chest. He hits that spot inside of Dongju’s, rolls into it, and Dongju gasps into his mouth.

It all comes rushing to him too fast, the heat builds up under his skin again faster than he can think, and the small whine Keonhee pushes into his mouth when Dongju clenches around him goes straight to his head.

“Oh, shit,” he curses again, trying to swallow. “Come on, dear, right like this —”

Keonhee always follows his words, always does what Dongju tells him to, so he fucks into him obediently and kisses him sweetly at the same time, and it drives Dongju mad. His skin itches with the heat lingering underneath it and he wants this all to be faster, so he shifts his own hips, too, tries to wiggle and push down against Keonhee.

Keonhee gets the message and snaps his hips into him a little faster, builds up his pace until he finds a rhythm with Dongju pressing a hand against his lower back as if to guide him, and Dongju sucks his tongue into his mouth.

Only when they briefly part for breath can Dongju see that Keonhee’s face has grown even rosier, eyes even lovelier, and he presses his thumb into his cheek to watch his lips drop open. The smile comes to him involuntarily, spills out of his chest, and he presses a kiss to the tip of Keonhee’s nose.

“Come on, dear,” he urges again, voice broken up by small moans as Keonhee continues to rock into him, cock brushing along his sweet spot with every movement, but his smile tints Dongju’s words rosy. “Make me come again?”

And Keonhee seems to make that his very mission. The movement of his hips against Dongju gets harder, faster, and he reaches down to provide some friction on Dongju’s cock with his hand. Dongju rocks his hips as well as he can, both to push back down against Keonhee and rock up into his hand, and he closes his eyes in bliss, smile tugging at his lips even wider.

“So good,” he praises, and Keonhee lets out a little whine. High in his throat, it stirs something deep in Dongju.

“Good?” Keonhee asks, as if to confirm, never letting off his pace, and with every thrust he sends Dongju closer to the edge again, and Dongju has never come twice in a row this fast.

“ _So_ good,” Dongju confirms for him, head rolling back. “The best. So good to me, fuck —”

Keonhee whines again, and his hips buck. It means he’s close, Dongju has learned to tell, and he reaches out to card his fingers through his hair and kisses his cheek. Still, although Dongju already knows, Keonhee makes sure to let him know, “I’m close. I’m so close, Dongju.” Another whine and Dongju tries to soothe him, kisses down his jaw and all of his long neck that he can reach. “Ju,” Keonhee gasps, and the nickname drives Dongju a little insane.

It’s always _Your Highness. My prince,_ sometimes, when he’s feeling fancy and wants to tease him. It’s only Dongju in the heat of the moment, or at their most intimate. Keonhee calling him Ju tickles something inside of him.

It makes him moan, which is a little embarrassing, but he has no room to think about that. Keonhee thrusts right up into his sweet spot once again and it covers his moan up enough, and he’s sure Keonhee is too out of it to even pay attention to what exactly is tickling sounds out of Dongju anymore.

“Let go, my dear,” Dongju coaxes, running his hand down Keonhee’s back, digging into his skin a little.

And Keonhee follows, of course. Thrusts into him a few more times before he tips over the edge and his come fills Dongju up, warm and slick. Mixes into the mess already dripping out of his entrance as Keonhee falls forward against him. Though the head of his cock is pressed right into Dongju’s sweet spot from this angle and the way he rocks into him, still, rolling his hips to work himself through it, finally makes Dongju snap, too.

Finishing for the second time, he barely has it in himself to moan, and he’s grateful that Keonhee seems lucid enough to work his hand over his cock and continue thrusting into him to help him through it.

Only when the worst of it has faded for Dongju, too, does Keonhee pull out of him. He delivers a sweet kiss to Dongju’s forehead and rolls onto the bedding next to him.

For a second, that’s all they do. Lie next to each other, catching their breath. The heat of Keonhee’s skin radiates against Dongju’s arm and he wants to reach out and touch him again, pull him over for another kiss, but his body feels deflated now. All strength gone from the muscles lining his bones, exhaustion settling deep.

“I love you,” he whispers when the breath has returned to his lungs, when he feels he can say it and mean it.

Keonhee turns his head to him and there is such innocence in his eyes. Untouched, perfect innocence, eyes wide and a little glassy from post-coital haze, and he looks wonderful. Heated rosy, eyes blown wide, and Dongju can’t tell why. Because the sex was so good for because he told him he loved him?

It’s not something he has ever said out loud before, but something he has known for a while. The feeling that fills up his chest when he looks at Keonhee, that has been there for so long.

“I love you, too, Dongju.” And the way he says his name is so honest, it almost makes Dongju tear up.

Silence blankets the room, but it’s comfortable. Lulls Dongju to sleep, for a moment, his eyes falling shut for a few minutes, maybe an hour, catching a bit of rest, before he wakes to the rustle of Keonhee getting up next to him.

“Your hair is a mess,” Keonhee comments gently, a grin tugging at his lips, and Dongju smiles back.

So he crawls out of the sheets and lets Keonhee seat him on the small divan in the middle of the room. His legs still feel a little weak, his entire body exhausted, but Keonhee has little problem supporting him. He sits behind him on the bench of the divan and gently begins to pull the needles out of his hair.

It takes a while to take them all out, and even longer for Keonhee to brush it out and let it fall back across Dongju’s shoulder in its original glory, brushed soft, but Dongju enjoys every second of it.

Keonhee sits so close to his back, warm, and the gentle strokes of the brush almost lull him back to sleep.

When they’re done, Keonhee helps him slip on a new robe, thin fabric over his bare body, and Dongju lets himself drop back against his chest. Keonhee circles an arm around his waist again and presses a soft kiss to his shoulder.

“Maybe we should just elope,” Dongju whispers, still sleepy. The thought makes him smile. “Dongmyeong can have the throne, I don’t care. I don’t wanna marry any of those women my parents have picked out, either, so. Let’s just run away. That way my parents don’t have to choose, either.”

Keonhee laughs, loud and wild, and Dongju tilts his head back to grin up at him. Keonhee only drops down to kiss him. “I’d like that,” he says, twinkle to his eyes. “But I think you love Dongmyeong too much to abandon him.”

Dongju sighs and twists his neck even worse to press another kiss to the underside of Keonhee’s jaw. “I do. How unfortunate.”

He returns to the banquet when the sun has long gone down, and the change in hair and robes does not go unnoticed. He sits back down next to his parents, and, at the very least, his smile is much calmer.

**Author's Note:**

> *chuckles* Hope this doesn't awaken anything in me. Like the need to spin this into yet another 50k+ AU. Had to actively remind myself a few times that this was supposed to be PWP. 
> 
> Anyway! I hope you enjoyed. Let me know if you did by leaving me a kudos, a comment, or by coming to yell on me on Twitter!
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/kitthae) | [18+ Twitter](https://twitter.com/dxngjv)


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